


Rational Creatures

by DancingLassie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anderson's a prick, Confused John, Fluff, Jealous Sherlock, Multi, Romance, Sally's not actually that bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingLassie/pseuds/DancingLassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Anderson finally goes too far Sally finds unexpected comfort in the form of John Watson.  She gets to know the man better, becomes friends with him and begins to ponder the pros and cons of dating him.  After all he's a kind, intelligent, good looking guy.  There's just the tiny little problem of the not-so-little Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jumper of Comfort

Sergeant Sally Donavan was having a really bad day.  The worst part was that she couldn’t even blame the Freak.

Much.

If anything he was the least to blame.  After all he was the one who had been telling her what a waste of air George Anderson was for years.  It aggravated her that the Freak had been right, again.

The day hadn’t started off badly.  She’d been awoken by the doorbell to find an expensive bouquet of flowers on her doorstep.  George often got her little presents for no other reason than he wanted to, and the cheerful blooms had instantly put her in a pleasant mood. So pleasant that she hadn’t even complained too much when Lestrade decided to call the Freak in after another body was found in the toilet of one of London’s many stations.

She managed to keep her temper when the Freak showed up, coat flapping dramatically behind him as usual.  Sally sometimes absently wondered if he had miniature fans built into his clothes.  She could swear that she’d seen that coat flutter when there hadn’t been a hint of a breeze.

As usual the Freak began by calling them all idiots and deducing how they’d spent the evening before, Sally was glad that she’d spent the night completing paperwork as it meant there wasn’t much to bait her with, and then everything went to hell when George walked out of the bathroom to see what was keeping everyone. 

The Freak gave him a quick glance and then something made Holmes’ eyes widen in comical horror.

“John,” he said to the faithful doctor standing behind him.  “It is time to start praying for humanity.  Anderson’s managed to reproduce.  I hope the child gets its genes solely from its mother or there is no hope for the world once it’s born.

Sally’s world came to a screeching halt around her. 

Pregnant? George’s wife was pregnant?  But George no longer slept with his wife.  He told her he hadn’t in years.

For one brief moment Sally felt elation.  If George’s wife was pregnant then it couldn’t be George’s.  George would finally have a reason to divorce her (the irony of this thought wasn’t lost on Sally) and they could be together properly.  Maybe that was the reason for the flowers this morning.

Only one look at George’s face caused the ugly truth to rear forth, refusing to hide behind the denial Sally was desperately trying to cling too.  The child was his.  He’d lied to her.  You didn’t have to be Sherlock Bloody Holmes to deduce what had just been revealed.  Everyone was looking at her. 

She was feeling uncomfortably hot and her skin felt too tight.  Her eyes were betraying her as tears began to collect in the corners of her eyes.  It felt as though she were on display to all of Euston Station. If she’d been a cartoon character then an anvil would have just fallen on her head.  

The Freak opened his mouth and Sally tried to mentally prepare herself for the scathing comments that were going to come out of his mouth and display her soul to her colleagues and passersby, knowing that it was hopeless and that she was about to cry the moment the first deduction was voiced. 

“Murder to solve Sherlock,” John’s voiced seemed abnormally loud.  “I’m supposed to be at the clinic in an hour, I don’t have all day.” The doctor was the only one not looking at her; instead his eyes were fixed on the Freak. 

“But-”

“Nope, time to solve crime,” the doctor grabbed the Freak and dragged him into the bathroom.

Sally started breathing again.  Refusing to look in George’s direction she squared her shoulders and got on with her job, mentally thanking John Watson with all heart.

She got through the rest of her day on sheer willpower and bloody-mindedness alone.  News travelled fast and all of New Scotland Yard knew of the incident by lunchtime.  She’d put up with a mixture of pitying and scornful glances.  Mostly the latter from the women.  No woman was that keen on a woman who was having a sex with a married man, it was too threatening.  She realised now that this was probably why she had so few female friends. 

Lestrade had been shooting her worried glances all day and had done his best to make sure she was stuck behind her desk and not anywhere near George.  She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug her boss for trying to be thoughtful or punch him in the jaw for coddling her and giving the gossipers even more ammunition.  She’d overheard two women speculating that she’d be asking for a transfer while she’d been in the bathroom.

So when George had finally got hold of her as she was leaving the office she let loose all her anger.  She refrained from hitting him, but only because they were in a police station.  Luckily the only people around to hear her outburst were Lestrade and Tom, the janitor, whom she’d always been on good terms with.  Neither was likely to spread exactly what she called George to the rest of the Yard.

Then, knowing it was a bad idea, she headed to the pub near her flat.  So here she was wallowing in misery and planning George Anderson’s imminent demise.

“Sally?” a quiet, unassuming voice snapped her out of her murderous musings.  John Watson was standing there, Guinness clutched in hand, looking awkward and slightly out of place.

“Why are you here?”she asked rudely, then blushed as she realised how she sounded.

“A friend from the army lives around here, we were supposed to meet here for a few drinks, but his girlfriend came down with the flu and he just texted to cancel.”

Sally debated asking him to join her.  She wasn’t exactly pleasant company at the moment, but she had been horribly rude to him already and she didn’t want to offend him.  She liked the doctor.  When he was around the Freak was almost bearable.

John took the decision out of her hands and sat down without being asked.  “I know this is a bit of advice that you probably don’t need to hear, but I have an alcoholic sister and as far as I know few problems have ever been solved this way.”

“How do I solve them?” she grumbled, taking another gulp of her drink.

“You could start with a good old fashioned rant.”

It was tempting, but...

“I swear Sherlock will never discover what you say.”  John had correctly picked up on the reason for her hesitation.  He looked so sincere and earnest that her mouth began talking before her brain had a chance to fully agree.

She began at the beginning, starting with first meeting George, moving onto the jokes, the friendship, and the one drunken night that had led to the affair.  She told John of George’s promises and the romantic gestures.  She moved onto the lies that had sounded so convincing at the time.

“I’m an idiot.  The Freak’s right, I’m a complete idiot.  I believed him when he told me he was no longer sleeping with his wife and now she’s pregnant!” She gasped the last word, the last remnants of her composure crumbling to dust as she tried to reign in the chest heaving sobs.

John, like most males in this situation, looked like he’d rather be back in Afghanistan than sitting next to a woman about to burst into tears in a public place.  Still she gave him points for effort.  He awkwardly opened his arms, inviting her to give him a hug.  His stupid fluffy jumpers had never looked so tempting and she practically dived into the cream monstrosity he was wearing today and cried drunkenly on his shoulder.

“I thought he loved me,” she wailed pathetically, getting a mouthful of fluff for her efforts.  The arms around her tightened and she felt him murmuring reassurances and other nice things into her hair.

“It’s okay,” he stroked her hair soothingly.

“No it’s not.  I thought he loved me but he didn’t and I loved him so much!  I thought he loved me!  He just messed me about and now I’m pathetic!  If he couldn’t even love me then how is anyone else supposed to?”

Two strong hands gripped her upper arms and thrust her away from the jumper clad shoulder of woe.  Two piercing blue eyes looked sternly into her brown ones and she tried not to flinch under their appraising scrutiny.

“Now you listen to me Sally Donavan.  You are an attractive woman, and an intelligent one.  You can even be a kind one; I’ve seen you with victims at crime scenes.  Apart from when you’re faced with my flatmate or a criminal you are a lovely human being and you will have no trouble finding a man when you are ready to try again. Understand?” 

Sally nodded dumbly, thinking this was the voice he must have used when in the army.  Maybe this was the voice he used to keep the Freak under control. 

“Good.  Now Anderson,” he spat the name out with such venom that Sally wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that George had dropped dead on the spot without cause.  “Anderson is a massive prick.  In fact, if Sherlock is the Freak then Anderson is definitely the Prick.  Capital letter and all.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at that and ended up hiccupping.

“Time to get you home,” John told her firmly and he helped her with her jacket and insisted on walking her home.

He left her in her flat after ensuring that she’d had a large drink of water and another glass with some paracetamol next to it by her bed, ready for the hangover she was bound to have the next day.

“Thank you,” she told him sincerely.  “If there’s anything I can do...”

He waved her off.  “Well if you could not call Sherlock ‘Freak’ for about a week then that would be great.  His brother was visiting earlier and that always puts him in a foul mood.  Anything  that prevents it from becoming worse is a relief.”

She nodded and indulged in one last hug of jumper comfort before letting him go and heading to bed.  She felt that she might be able to manage that, and the next time the Fre- _Holmes_ annoyed John she’d be sure to buy him a drink and listen to him rant in order to repay him for tonight.


	2. Nail Polish of Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally return the favour while John wrestles with nail polish.

Sally’s chance to return the favour came a week later.  One torturous week later.  The only reason she got through it was by calling George ‘The Prick’ in her mind whenever she saw him or someone mentioned him. 

The gossip still continued, but she was somewhat comforted when she realised that George was being slagged off as much as her and a few women were even on her side.  The cafeteria lady had started giving her extra chips and told her that she’d been in a similar situation herself.  The woman was now happily married so that gave Sally a bit of hope.

Still, when the next serial killer came out to play and began leaving toes in train station lockers (the rest of the victim was never found) Sally felt a kind of nervous, giddy anticipation at the thought of seeing John again.  Would he think her pathetic for all the crying she did on him?  Were they friends now?  Would he be willing to listen to her complain about her week?

When he did turn up she was sure that he wouldn’t turn down going to the pub if she asked.  He looked furious.

Normally the doctor walked beside or slightly behind Holmes (she had taken to calling him Holmes in her head in order to not slip up in front of John).  Today he was striding furiously in front of the consulting detective, feet slamming loudly on the ground with each step.  Holmes actually looked abashed.

“It was important John!” he tried to placate the doctor.

“Don’t you dare Sherlock,” John snapped back.  “You are going to go in there and solve this and then you are going to go back to the flat, clean the kitchen and when I get back it had better be free of soot and scorch marks or you will be searching for a new flatmate.”

Holmes actually flinched.

Sally lifted the police tape for them without being asked.  “The toes belong to a woman Holmes,” she told him.  She didn’t really need to tell him anything, but she wanted to show John that she was grateful for what he did last week.  It was totally worth it to see Holmes’ face.  For a brief nanosecond he goggled at her, before doing his best to appear unsurprised at the lack of her usual moniker and strode towards Lestrade.

“You alright?” she asked John as he hung back.  His face was still pinched in displeasure and his nostrils flared as he breathed.

“Not really,” he told her tightly, though he did attempt a small smile to assure her it wasn’t her that had upset him.

“Do you want to hang out at the pub again this evening?  They do food so we could meet there at six.  You can tell me what he’s done to upset you.”

John blinked at her in slight surprise.  “You sure?  I’m not going to be wonderful company tonight.”

“Fair’s fair.  I’ll let you cry on me if you need to.”

He managed a weak grin at her feeble joke and nodded.  “Six it is.”

Six rolled round fairly quickly and Sally was pleased to see John had arrived before her and was already sitting at a table with a pint in his hand.  She ordered herself a gin and tonic before heading over to join him.

“So is your kitchen spotless yet?”

“No idea. I’ll find out after this.  We got your serial killer by the way.  It only took Sherlock an hour and before I knew it I was tied to chair and having my toes painted by a serial killer with a major foot fetish.”

“You’re joking?” Sally questioned, realising that it could very possibly be true.  John kicked off a shoe and peeled away a sock to reveal a very pampered foot.  It looked as though it had been waxed, judging by the lack of hair, and the nails had been painted a deep blue.  At least she now knew what Lestrade had spent his afternoon doing; trying to take Holmes’ statement.

“That’s...” Sally wasn’t quite sure what to say.  “I’d have chosen purple myself.”  Though she was sure she hadn’t meant to say that.

John let out a brief laugh and pulled his sock back on.  “Well I headed straight here after leaving the Yard.  Don’t suppose you know how to get this stuff off?”

“I have nail polish remover at mine, you can borrow it.”

“Thank Christ!”

Sally laughed and there was a brief silence as they both took sips of their drinks and looked over the pub food menu.  Sally was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable.  Two weeks ago she wouldn’t have called John Watson a friend, but since that night a week ago she had been trying to find a reasonable excuse to chat with him.  Maybe it was because he’ already seen her at her lowest and not judged her for it.  If he could do that then he could probably cope with whatever else she threw his way.

She mused on this new friendship some more when John went up to the bar to order.  Her friends mostly consisted of people she still kept in touch with from uni, most of whom didn’t know about her affair with the Prick, and her colleagues, who all did and judged her on some level for it.  John was neither an old uni friend nor really a colleague.  He knew about Anderson and while he didn’t acquit her of her part in the affair, he did recognise that she had been hurt by it.

She appreciated that more than he’d probably ever know, so she was determined to make the most of this blossoming friendship.  Starting with being a willing ear to whatever had been troubling him.

“Sherlock was a bastard,” he told her when she asked what had upset him as they dug into greasy burgers.  “He was running an experiment on how different types of fabric burn depending on their wool content, and my army beret was apparently a perfect test subject.  It was my fucking beret!”

There is a certain tightness around his eyes and mouth and a paleness to his cheeks that suggests the burning of the beret has triggered some emotional trauma that Sally can’t even begin to understand. 

“I fought in Afghanistan in that thing.  Well I usually was wearing a helmet when fighting was involved but you know what I mean.  It was mine, and it was personal and now it’s ash.  And you know what’s even worse?  Sherlock doesn’t get it.  To him it was just a hat.  He seems to think he can just buy me another like it will be just the same, but it won’t because that one won’t have fought in bloody Afghanistan!”

His knuckles are white around his cutlery and his breathing has become slightly laboured.  Sally tentatively puts a hand over his and his grip on the fork loosens as he realises what he’s doing.

“Sorry,” he apologises, looking embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it,” she insists.  Several rude names for the Freak are going round her head, but she’d already realised that if she wanted to be good friends with John it meant keeping all rude thoughts about Holmes to herself as much as possible; though he definitely deserves some of them at the moment.  “I hope you’re making him clean the living room and the bathroom too.  It’s the least he can do.”

“I think Mrs Hudson will have him doing that.  She heard my shouting when I discovered the pile of ash that used to be my beret.”

He visibly pulls himself together and looks around the pub for a safer subject of conversation.

“How are things going with the Anderson thing?”

Sally tries to hide a wince.  “It’s dying down a bit.  The women are beginning to target him as well as me so that’s alright and I only speak to the man himself when I need something work related.  He’s been difficult though.”

“Difficult how?”  John’s eyes narrow in displeasure and Sally feels warmth spread across the back of her neck when she realises that he’s getting defensive of her in the same way he gets defensive of Holmes.

“He’s either trying to get me on my own to apologise or he’s playing proud father-to-be in front of me.  He’s telling people that he wants to call the kid David if it’s a boy.  That was my father’s name!  He knew I wanted to call my son that one day.”

She’s tearing up again at the memory of her beloved father, killed in a mugging when she was seventeen.  John is practically vibrating with fury and he pulls her roughly into a hug.  It shouldn’t be so comforting to have five foot and seven inches of suppressed rage pressed against you but Sally wraps her arms round John and squeezes back, wishing she could let him loose on the Prick.

When he lets her go he has transformed back into the mild mannered doctor he presents to the world and they move onto lighter topics and she tells him all about the scrapes she got into with her younger brother as a kid.  He in turn tells her about the pranks he sometimes played in the army with his army mates and his plans to go paintballing with a few of them who had just finished their latest tour.

It was strange to think of John having a life that didn’t involve Sherlock.  Sally had never thought of them as existing separately until now.

John insisted on walking her home again, reminding her of her promise to let him use her nail polish remover.  This led to them both sitting in her bathroom with John swearing furiously at the nail polish.

“What the fuck is this stuff made off?  I don’t think paint stripper would get this off.”

“He’s done a good job,” Sally admitted, John’s foot was in her lap as she took over when he looked ready to start throwing the nail polish remover at the walls.  “He’s put several coats on and a clear coat to help prevent it chipping.”

She worked furiously at the nail polish on his right foot while John started trying to remove the polish on his left one.  That foot was easier as the serial killer had obviously not had time to complete it before John was saved.  There was only one layer of nail polish on three of his toes.

“Maybe I should have been kidnapped by this guy,” Sally mused.  “He’s managed to get rid of most of the hard skin on your heel.”

“I’ll suggest that when I next come across a kidnapping serial killer with a foot fetish,” John told her dryly, crossing his arms stubbornly as he lent back against the toilet.

“Hey, John?”

“Yes?”

“It’s my birthday next Wednesday and I was just going to go ten pin bowling with a few friends.  Would you like to come?  Lestrade will be there and a few others from the Yard.  I suppose,” and she added this last bit really hesitantly. “You could bring Holmes if you want.”

John stared at her in amazement and Sally tried to keep the horror she felt about Holmes at her party away from her face.  Then he grinned boyishly at her.

“I’d love to come, but I think it’s best for all involved if I give Sherlock permission to run that experiment on the decomposing chicken on Wednesday night, seeing as how I’ll be out.”


	3. Voucher of Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally has her birthday party and a revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter. I actually thought I'd already posted it, then I realised 'oops'.   
> There's not likely to be another chapter for a while. I have coursework to complete and then I've got exams and interviews so I'll be absent for a while.  
> But never fear, I do have a plan for this story and I've written it down so that I won't forget it.

Wednesday came by quickly and Sally started her birthday by my mashing up the single rose Prick sent her with the mortar and pestle her mother had bought her two Christmases ago and she had never yet used.  Her younger brother did nothing more than raise an eyebrow when he saw grinding the red bloom into a pulp.

Simon had never liked George and they’d had many blazing rows over it, which was why they hadn’t talked to each other since Christmas.  Sally had finally worked up the courage to phone him and apologise two days ago and Simon had insisted on being in London for her birthday and taking her out to lunch.

“Shall I give you your present now or will it meet the same fate?”

“Now,” Sally insisted as she wiped the sweat away that had formed on her brow.  “That might save the rest of my day from being miserable.”

She was pleased with the collection of DVDs he gave her and did head to the office in a better mood.  Tom wished her a happy birthday as she passed him and Lestrade had even left a card on her desk.  Elizabeth, the cafeteria lady who had taken a shine to her, had made her a small cupcake with a smiley face iced on it.  Best of all, one of the forensic officers had caught the vomiting bug and the Prick had been called to fill in so she didn’t see him all day.

By the time she entered the bowling alley she was almost giddy with excitement.  Her brother couldn’t help but notice.

“Special someone coming along tonight?” he teased her as they went to collect their bowling shoes. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she told him.  “After the last disaster I’ve decided to stay single for a few months, but there is a friend I want you to meet.”

She was sure that Simon and John would get along.  Simon had never been a great reader but he devoured three types of stories: war stories, vigilante stories and crime novels.  Sally was sure John Watson had lived all three genres. 

“Sally,” the man in question walked through the door.  He strode over and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek as he wished her a happy birthday.

“John, glad you came.  This is my brother Simon.  Simon, this is Doctor John Watson, he used to be in the army but now he helps solve crimes with that guy I told you about.”

Her theory regarding Simon was spot on.  His face lit up with boyish enthusiasm and he happily shook the doctor’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.  Sally was telling me stories about you the other night.  By the way, I come bearing presents.”

He handed Sally two cards.  The first one was from him and inside was a voucher for a manicure and a pedicure at a posh salon.  “I thought it was wrong that I currently had better groomed feet than you,” he laughed as she thanked him.

The second card was from Sherlock Holmes and it contained a handmade voucher that entitled her to being spared from being insulted at a crime scene of her choice.

“It was my idea,” John admitted.  “He’s happily playing with maggots back at the flat so he didn’t even object too much.”

Sally snorted and Simon looked confused, mouthing ‘maggots’ incredulously at her when John’s back was turned.

Soon the rest of her guests trickled in and the games of bowling began.  Sally and Simon used to come here once a week when they were kids and so were pretty good.  Christine and Laura from uni hadn’t played much at all and were good-naturedly hopeless.  The few Yarders she had invited were alright, Lestrade (or Greg as he had insisted she now call him when they weren’t at the office) was a champion at it, which he put down to being a father with kids who loved bowling, and John was a close second to Greg.

Sally was relieved to see that John wasn’t feeling left out, seeing as he only really knew herself and Greg.  However he had talked pleasantly to Simon for a large portion of the night, her brother was ever so slightly smitten with the doctor and Sally mused that she would have to warn his girlfriend.  He also traded jokes with her colleagues and gave Christine and Laura a few bowling tips.  It annoyed her when Laura started flirting with him but Simon quickly swooped in to divert his attention and Sally forced herself to relax and not aim her next ball at Laura’s ankles.

“Thanks for coming,” she told him as they all got their regular shoes on and prepared to go home.  “And thanks for putting up with all Simon’s questions.”

“It was nice.  I haven’t had someone so enthusiastic about me in a while.  Tell him I don’t mind coffee next time he’s in London.”

He gave her a hug goodbye, waved to the rest of the group and headed off home.

“Someone is slightly smitten,” Simon joked later when they got back to her flat.

“I know, should I warn Celia that you may be about to have an affair with John.  You were practically drooling over him,” Sally teased back.

“But seriously,” Simon said as he put the kettle on.  “He’s a good bloke, Mum may think he’s slightly old for you, but-”

“I’m not dating John Watson!” Sally cut in quickly.

“Well you’re not at the moment, but you were eying him up all night.”

“He’s just a friend,” Sally insisted; because she couldn’t have a crush on John Watson.  The idea was absurd.  Even if he was kind of handsome, and was funny, and laughed at her jokes, and comforted her when she was upset, and she had started trying to figure out how to spend more time in his presence, and she’s absently wondered one day if his hair would be soft like his jumpers.

Bugger.

She had a crush on John Watson.

“Would you perhaps like something stronger than tea?”  Simon was observing her revelation.

“Yes,” she croaked.

She sat quickly down on her sofa and wondered how on earth this had happened.  How had she fallen for _Holmes’_ flatmate and best (only) friend?

“Oh God!  This is bad,” she muttered into her palms that had come up to cradle her head.

“Why?  He’s nice and friendly and an awful lot better than your previous choice in men.”  Simon handed her a gin and tonic and she took a sip, bracing herself for the inner argument to come.

Yes, John Watson did seem like an ideal guy to date, for all the reasons she had thought about above.  In fact the only con that sprung into her mind at the thought of dating John was, of course, Sherlock Holmes.  He made her life hell at work; could she cope letting him in to her private life?  And he would be part of her private life.  With John Watson came baggage in the form of one tall consulting detective.  She’d heard stories about John’s past girlfriends.  Holmes would do his best to drive her away.

Yet, she had the advantage none of John’s other girlfriends had.  She knew exactly what Holmes was capable off and she was seventy-five per cent certain that she could find ways to deal with his bullshit and get a bit of sneaky revenge.

Oh Lord! She was actually considering this.

She was going to try dating John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you in June my friends!  
> I'll be back!

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small idea that's been floating around my head. Not entirely sure where it's going to end up though.


End file.
